


Traitor

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Dystopia, Ficlet, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis gets an unsettling warning from the principal.





	Traitor

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning, the rating is for omega oppression, not sex.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Despite sleeping through half his classes and rarely paying his teachers a shred of interest, Noctis does relatively well in school. Ignis’ private tutoring and constant pushing haven’t hurt. When Noctis is called to the principal’s office after school, only a week before he’s set to graduate, he doesn’t understand why. He’s kept his grades up for the entire ride. He’s never acted up—if anything, he’s acted _down_. He doesn’t have any problems with other students or teachers—he hardly even knows most of their names. But he’s not about to start one with the principal, so he sends Ignis a quick text to say that he’ll be late. He receives one back asking if Prompto’s the culprit, but for once, Noctis hasn’t seen him. Their last two classes aren’t shared—though Noctis quietly did everything he could to make sure they shared as many as possible—and Prompto wasn’t at his locker after the bell.

As the rest of the student body eagerly leaks out of the building, Noctis walks to the head office. The receptionist there looks especially grim, but she’s never looked particularly happy, even in the face of summer vacation. She won’t care that another class is graduating. She nods Noctis towards the principal’s office, and he goes on his own. 

The door opens as soon as he knocks on it, and the principal answers with an even grimmer expression. He ushers Noctis inside with a sweep of his hand. Noctis enters the large room, full of neatly organized books and a too-big desk. The last time Noctis was in it was his freshman year, when Ignis had showed up for the parent-teacher conference, because Noctis’ father was too busy to attend, and they deemed him too important for his homeroom teacher. It was incredibly embarrassing. Ignis was still a university student himself.

But the main difference in this visit is that _Prompto’s_ already inside, kneeling on the floor with his eyes downcast. He doesn’t look up at Noctis, but his posture, if possible, wilts even more. His face looks _terrible_. His freckled cheeks are red and tear-streaked, his puffy eyes still watering. His uniform hangs off of his trim body like rags. Noctis looks sharply at the principal, just about ready to attack. He just needs to hear who the perpetrator was. His imagination’s already spinning into overdrive—some shitbag alpha must’ve tried something, or maybe even a teacher went horribly off on Prompto for his grades. The part that Noctis doesn’t understand is why Prompto’s on the floor—he might be an omega, but this school is at least good enough to let _all_ students use the furniture. 

“I apologize for having to drag you into this, Your Highness,” the principal starts, shooting a cold look at Prompto that makes Noctis’ fists clench at his sides. “But given your involvement with this omega, the school felt you ought to be informed.” The way he says ‘omega’ has just a _slight_ spin to it. It makes Noctis uncomfortable, and worse, _angry_ —he’d thought the capitol, at least, had gotten over omega oppression, and if he’d known it was going on at his own school, he would’ve invoked his little-used title with relish. Obviously, he’s too late now.

He doesn’t get what that has to do with Prompto, anyway—Prompto’s always been a good omega for him. Yet the principal looks down at Prompto with clear distain and orders, “Show him your wrists, omega.”

Prompto all but trembles. Noctis picks up on something else that’s _off_ —Prompto isn’t wearing his wristband. It’s the first time Noctis has ever seen him without it. He seems to be trying to shrink his hands back into his sleeves, but he tentatively obeys the command of the older alpha before him. He lifts his wrists up, hands held together, to present to Noctis. Noctis doesn’t understand, until the principal reaches down to wrench his right one forward. It bears a black tattoo that Noctis has never seen before—a series of lines like a barcode.

Noctis steps over. He bends to brush his fingers over the pattern—the skin isn’t red or raw; it doesn’t look new. Then he lets his fingers curl around the side, slipping into Prompto’s palm, holding on mostly so the principal will let go. He does. Noctis tries to will Prompto to look up at him, but Prompto’s broken gaze won’t leave the floor. 

“He’s a Nif,” the principal says. It comes so sharply, so suddenly. Noctis’ head snaps up. “We had an incident like this a few years back. Like this one, our gym teacher discovered it. That student was an alpha, which made it a little more complicated to deport her, but she was still thoroughly interrogated and ultimately returned to the Empire. The process should be much smoother with an omega.” Noctis’ head is spinning. He can feel Prompto’s hand shaking in his. The principal continues too easily on, “Naturally, that’s not the school’s business, but we wanted to formally apologize for allowing this one to get so close to our prince while under our watch. We already disapproved of it when he first approached you, of course, but as you seemed to enjoy him, we let it slide. That was our mistake. I assure you, he will be properly dealt with and sent back to—”

“No.” Noctis’ voice cuts in without him even consciously thinking about it. But he stands by it. The principal arches one eyebrow.

“No?”

“You won’t report him, and you won’t lay another hand on him,” Noctis grits out, clear and harsh. Annoyance flitters over the principal’s face, and he opens his mouth, obviously ready to protest, but Noctis finishes, “This omega is property of the crown.”

For a split second, the principal looks flabbergasted. In Noctis’ peripherals, Prompto finally looks up, blue eyes wide and beautiful, but then he hurriedly looks down again, shoulders hunching. Noctis gives his hand a little squeeze before dropping it. Prompto quickly hides his tattoo under his sleeve again, burying his hands in his lap. 

“Your Highness, you don’t seem to understand—”

“I understand,” Noctis growls. All of his good behaviour at school goes right out the window—he’s not a _student_ anymore, he’s a prince with a subject—an alpha telling another alpha to back off _now_. He solidifies: “I’m claiming him.”

“But,” the principal starts, flustered and irritated and now maybe even a little afraid—Noctis’ father and the council will probably be as angry with the school as they will be with Noctis when they find out he claimed an omega, a commoner, still technically in school and without any vetting. Noctis doesn’t waver. He’ll make it work. He’ll _make_ them accept it. “He’s from _Niflheim_ , and his grades alone make him wholly unworthy—”

Noctis interrupts with a steely reminder: “My bonding isn’t a school matter. You have no authority over this, _or_ over _my_ omega.” The principal closes his mouth, but he looks absolutely furious. Noctis glares until he thinks the message has gotten across. 

Then he turns on his heel and stalks for the door, not bothering to look back. He barks, “Prompto, come.” He hears Prompto instantly scrambling after him. He ignores the receptionist on the way out and storms right out of the office, into the cleared-out halls. Prompto doesn’t say a word, but Noctis tracks his footsteps to make sure he’s still there. Noctis is still steaming. He needs the time from the walk just to simmer back down. 

He diverts into the first washroom they pass. Prompto obediently follows, and he stops when Noctis does, eyes still downcast as Noctis rounds on him. There’s so much to say that Noctis doesn’t even know where to start. Prompto’s still shaking. He looks absolutely _wrecked_. 

Noctis’ base instincts flare up. Prompto doesn’t bear his mark yet, but in a way, Noctis has thought of Prompto as _his_ for as long as they’ve known each other. He wanted Prompto the second he laid eyes on him, even if it wasn’t in _this_ way yet. And right now, Noctis wants nothing more than to scoop his omega up in his arms and promise it’ll all be okay. 

Instead, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” It comes out quiet, subdued, hopefully more soothing than the snarling beast that showed up in the principal’s office. Prompto sniffs. 

“I didn’t... I’m sorry.” Prompto shakes his head, stopping to scrub his hand over his eyes. Noctis hopes the tears and tremours die down soon, because they hurt just to watch. “I just... didn’t want you to hate me... I knew I shouldn’t, but I liked hanging out with you so much...” He stops again to sniffle, while Noctis wonders what he did wrong—how could Prompto think that Noctis could _ever_ hate him? “I... are you really going to...?”

Noctis can’t take it anymore. He brings his arms up, and Prompto comes into them—Noctis wraps around him for a fierce, protective hug. Noctis loved his company too. Every moment of it. Noctis loved the beautiful, sunny aura that drifted into his life, hesitantly calling him a _friend_ and liking _Noctis_ , not some reverent royal figurehead. Prompto never asked how many servants he had or tried to get his money. Prompto’s the only one in his life that doesn’t _have_ to be there.

But Noctis wouldn’t let him leave it. He never would’ve guessed Prompto had a dark origin story beneath his wristband, but it doesn’t matter. Noctis is still getting over the shock, but in the meantime, he still needs Prompto to be okay. 

Prompto clings to Noctis’ jacket in return. He presses his face into Noctis’ shoulder, and neither of them say anything about the wet press of Prompto’s nose against his neck or the tearstains dragging over his jacket. Prompto whispers again, “Are you really going to... y’know...?”

“If it’s okay,” Noctis answers. “Y’know, if you want to...”

Prompto lets out a watery laugh. Noctis lets go enough to let him detangle, but they don’t go far, and Noctis keeps one hand reassuringly in Prompto’s while the other wipes at his eyes. Prompto smiles through the tears. “Are you kidding? That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Noctis’ chest clenches. His stomach keeps twisting in a bizarrely pleasant way. “Every other omega in the school is gonna be jealous. Wait, scratch that—in the _country_.”

Noctis snorts. “They never had a shot with me anyway.” Prompto grins broader. He never seems to understand how _cute_ he is, but when the tabloids inevitably come for them, Noctis knows Prompto won’t have any bad angles to capture. Noctis leans in again, pausing once, just in case Prompto will pull away. When Prompto doesn’t, Noctis gently kisses Prompto’s cheeks and thumbs away the tears. 

Then Prompto folds into him again. Prompto snuggles against his chest like a purring cat, freshly rescued from a shelter. But most days, Noctis feels like he was the one that was rescued.

He lets the moment linger for a long while before he goes back for his phone. As he types out a message, he tells Prompto, “C’mon, Ignis is waiting with the car.” And they’ve probably got a lot to talk about on the ride home. But it’ll be worth it. 

He heads out and on with Prompto beside him, just like it always should be.


End file.
